Written by The Only Cobra
Unravel
The sea of evergreen did little to hinder the bitter chill of winter’s mourning. There were three hunters upon the hill, riding powerful steeds. The fourth, who lagged behind while sharing the hunter role, possessed little of the physical aptitudes his comrades enjoyed. This was only his third hunt, of which he hadn't slain a single beast. He hadn’t even seen one aside from the occasional hare. Of this he heard nightly from his able-bodied counterparts, for which he held no blame. After all, it was out of extreme need that he, a storyteller of feeble constitution, be assigned a hunting route in the first place. The damned empire was never satiated, no matter the conquest, as Mordred would put it with ample bitterness. His clan of “wild men,” as the empire called them, had been left only the highlands, a harsh wilderness their armies did not bother marching through. There was no summer to grant them relief in this frigid tundra, nor suitable farmland for any real growth for their dwindling communities. At the very least, the companions they rode were suited for such weather.
He felt a firm hand strike his back. “You still with us, speaker?” Corm, the leader of this troupe, had finally gotten the shaggy-haired head to lift from its pondering. He cleared the fog from his mind, along with the snow clinging to his hood.
“Just catching my breath.” Mordred dismissed the aches in his bones, standing straight. He received a grunt of acknowledgment just before Dana called out.
“Got tracks here, big ones too.” She was right. Cloven hooves have left deep impressions upon the snow. “Looks like a lone male headed north.”
“That’s further in than we’d like. We won't be able to take our striders there,” chimed Galdur.
“What we ‘like’ is of no concern,” declared their leader. “The children are hungry. We go on foot.”
That was the end of it. After hitching their mounts, the four stalked the trail blazed by the impressive beast. It was not any enlightened moral or drive that pushed them. A simpler, powerful motive kept their feet trudging through the snow, kept their tired eyes open; always watching. No matter the possible peril that awaited them in those infamous trees, hunger above all commands.
A crown of barked bone adorned him, stories written in the flesh marred by defeated rivals. The ears twitched and the body stiffened, listening for death approaching. They had encircled him, cutting off all chance of escape. His head lowered as his legs flexed with power—he was preparing to charge. Why did he have to choose me? Mordred believed he knew of these beasts, even partaken in the consumption of their flesh. How mistaken he was, being faced with the force of ten men on just four legs. He managed to raise a weapon for the very first time, a spear crafted for him this morning, wrapped in twine, dyed in red for luck that surely wouldn’t come to rescue. No amount of warmth would thaw his frozen legs, despite his poor heart filling him with all the paltry vigor it could spare.
Did someone call him? His eyes flinched just as the impact sent him reeling onto his back. The stunned man forced a breath, then another. He wasn’t dead, not even broken. There wasn’t a moment to question the miracle, as the savior was made clear. Corm was held high in the windless air. Precious red painted both his killer’s crown and the lands. Helpless, Mordred watched a braver man use the last of his strength to blind the creature before he was thrown to his final bed. The earth was still. All that could be heard was his fearful heart ringing in his ear. Death has never looked this brutal, nor this beautiful. Such a strong, treasured life snuffed as one douses unneeded flame.
He felt a hot flash before finding himself in snow yet again. Someone was yelling again. Yelling at him. Was the beast finishing the fight we started? His ribs cracked from another blow. He knew it was the case, yet felt nothing. Another voice… now they were both shouting. “The beast is dead. We need to bring it home.” What? He slowly rose, the pangs of new injury finally reaching him. Galdur was frothing with rage.
“Coward! Bastard! How could you stand there and watch him die!” Just as the shock had eased, it redoubled. Such contempt in his eyes. They broke bread just this morning.
“It's not his fault, Ga—” she pleaded in vain.
“SILENCE!” Mordred heard it boom twice more from the mountains beyond. All that rage has quieted now. Galdur calmly raised his weapon to what once was his comrade. “Get out of here! Give your thanks to Corm that you’re spared death twice this day. There won’t be a third. Leave now, and live. Don’t you dare die. You will not waste his sacrifice, gods damn you.”
He knew they would take the time to both bury the old warrior, and prepare the meat for transport. Pushing himself as hard as he was able, his breath hitching with each step, he returned to his steed, the same journey now taking half a day. “I need you more than ever, Stout. Take us to a place unseen.” He tied himself to his only friend, foreseeing his consciousness lost. It didn’t matter where they went—it wouldn’t be home.
Correct, he was. After drifting between different states of consciousness, during which the sun’s position was always changing, he finally woke up in unfamiliar surroundings. Trees here grew in wild, tangled forms. The leaves moved with only his breath stirring the air. Tall grasses and vibrant flowers sprang out of the snow in gem-like colors. It looked as if one of the empire’s cathedrals had been gutted and cast across the frozen meadow, its spoils of gold and painted glasses laid bare to the elements to be trod upon. Such beauty took him aback, yet a well of dread filled him at what came next. Behind the strange grotto of weird wood laid an alien structure of dark stone that glowed unnatural hues. Despite the dry winter air, it appeared wet. Light shifted on its surface, mimicking a gentle stream. Mordred finally realized he had stopped. His strider shook its tusked face in fear. “I know, old friend. It is strange, but what choice do we have, ya?” He unties himself, gently dismounting. “Come now, I’ll lead.” He ushered it forward with the rope now tied around its powerful neck. If it truly wanted, it could drag him far away from here. Some trust must have been held for him, for it followed in obedience.
The air was charged by an unknown source. Both he and his animal friend’s hairs were on end. The structure had stairs of sorts, wide enough for both to access and gentle in its slope. It wrapped around the tower, lit by the veins of crystals forming and closing sporadically across the surfaces. It took ages for the two of them to reach the top of this structure. Only there was no roof. An amphitheater of hewn stone, filled with strange mosses and vines, took their seats to the stage, on which one stood alone.
The air distorted around them, a power molding reality with no direction. It was impossible to gaze upon this entity, its ever-shifting guise too difficult to follow. There was an unmistakable aura of danger emanating from them. The exhausted traveler fell to his knees before it, accepting his fate. “Welcome, child of the wild.” It spoke with more than a voice—the echoes of canyons and hushed whispers woven into a single contained thread.
“Who are you?” The words slipped out of him before he could consider. It seemed not to mind.
“I am the tumbling rocks and the diverging streams. I am the seed’s destined home and the purging fire. I am the contradiction and the rhyme, the stanzas of your poems yet to be written. I am the forgotten and the new, and the twist of your tale.” His head was spinning, the cryptic words ringing both as warning and as prize. What could this being want? What could all of those words describe? “Your people are starving. Their time is coming to a close. The chapter has been written.” He felt his hope plummet for a moment. “How it ends lies on you.” He could feel it grinning now. How or why were distant wonderings he hadn’t the time to peruse, but he knew it was waiting with an eerie eagerness. He decided to chance it with due response.
“I dare ask you, who have not been named. How would I hold any power now when I didn't before?” It flashed forward, an indescribable sensation washing over him. Was it trying to comfort him? Or intimidate?
“Your power lies in choice. Choices pave the path you must walk.”
“What choice do you offer me?” It paused at his question, looming over his nape.
“Power, dear Mordred.” It cooed. He recoiled at his name, stammering.
“H-how did y-y-”
“I am divine and perfect. I am Deviroth, the hand of chaos.” His face was drained of all color. A choked squeal was all that slipped out of his shock. “Do not fear. You have reached salvation for you and your people. Never again shall you be helpless. Never again shall you be weak. Your people will prosper in a new, tamed society. Changed yet thriving. That is, if you agree to my terms.” If it were not for the fractures he had sustained reminding him, Mordred would certainly believe himself dreaming.
“Name your terms.” “Anything you want, I shall provide,” he decided.
“You will serve me as my champion when I call, and you must perform a most crucial task. In exchange, chaos will remake you. Thread by thread. Granting you your promised power. Your people shall receive my blessing, which you will bring to them. You will usher them in a new era, no longer confined in discarded lands of ravenous kings.” There was no hesitation, he raised his head to gaze upon that which cannot be interpreted.
“I accept.”
With that, every fiber of his body was unbound and re-weaved through the loom of chaos. Tempered by the guidance of the elder deity, his body, mind, and soul had each of their respective shortcomings filled with volatile energy. His shaggy hair now was long and fiery red, his eyes shifting between human colors. No longer was he meek and feeble. His back was straight, and his stature was inspiring. He felt time wind back for him. What age had afflicted his recent years had receded. His mind was clear, but not his heart. This was not the end of this tale. He needed to ensure Corm’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
He wheeled around to heavy footfalls to be greeted with quite the surprise. The magic had not left his friend unfettered. What was a formidable creature that stood just above the shoulder had grown by a factor of 10. Their hair was wool-like in texture, with great tusks protruding down toward him. “Not scared now, are we, old friend?” He smiled as he ran his fingers through its coarse fur.
“You turned beautifully.” whispered the deity. Mordred turned again to the one he bargained with and felt his heart skip. What was once an unknowable enigma became clear. A hauntingly sublime countenance smiled in its own way to him, pleased. “My champion, it is time to fulfill your end of the bargain.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I have given you knowledge of a special place. Within it lies a godchild that would grow to overturn all that we hold dear. You are to bring them to me.”
“How—”
“I have reasons to ask for your aid, reasons you are not privy to.” Despite the newfound power, he couldn't help feeling slightly defeated. He comforted himself with the notion this would perhaps be the one and only time he’d perform such questionable deeds. Deep down, however, he knew that it would not matter. His people needed him, and they finally were saved, and if that damned him, then so be it.
“Very well.”